


She's Lived a Good Life

by Kinako



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Geriatric Herald, MCiT, Modern Character in Thedas, Spoilers all, non-canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26289904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinako/pseuds/Kinako
Summary: When a university professor becomes the Herald of Andraste, she is surprised to find that she is older than anyone else she meets in Thedas. She declines to fit into the role she knows, and from her first words, she spills the beans. All the beans...
Comments: 70
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

Even before fully awakening, trauma and moment seep into her mind. She is aware of pain and weakness throughout her body, but it feels like the pains belong to someone else. She is alone, but somehow she is sure this will change and the curtain will rise. Here is the nightmare of awakening center stage and not knowing the lines. 

The air is heavy, acrid, and cold. Her delirium edges towards the concrete, and she realizes she is kneeling upon numb shins; her arms are shackled in front of her. She is dressed warmly, but these padded leathers are like nothing she has worn in her life. When the green flare of light shoots painfully up her left hand through every single nerve, the familiarity bursts into focus: she has just never seen this scene from this exact perspective. Is she playing the traditional part? A look down at her green-limned hand shows her own crepe skin and protuberant veins. Only she would hallucinate this signal scene without giving herself the vigor of youth.

Right on cue, the door bursts open and two familiar women enter. Familiar, yes, but not identical to anything in her memory. These people are real, and three-dimensional people sweat and smell and apparently need to wipe grime off of their armor. No dream of hers has ever included odor or such a variety of pain, so this _must_ be a hallucination. She will let it play out—to an extent.

They both circle her and then Cassandra leans in to her face and threatens, “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.”

She knows the lines she should respond with, but this is _her_ hallucination, damn it. She will say what she wants. “Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast! You would no more kill a helpless, bound, prisoner than you would kiss a dragon!”

Cassandra flinches back, eyes wide; her sneer deepens. 

The prisoner twists her head up and back so she can see Leliana behind her. She says, “Now the Nightingale might well kill a bound prisoner, but not a useful one, and not without reason. And I am. Useful, I mean. Or the Mark is. It can close the rifts, and perhaps, eventually, the Breach. We shall see what an old scholar can make it do.”

Leliana does not move as she calmly states, “That you can be so sure suggests that you must be one of the perpetrators of the destruction of the conclave.”

She should be scared, but she isn’t. What can they do? Wake her? Kill her? Eh...she’s lived a good life. But she is frustrated that what is so clear to her cannot be clear to them. How can she give them the gist of the situation most efficiently? She says, “No, I am as much of a victim as Divine Justinia was. You might say I have knowledge of your future. I know things about our situation; I am on your side, and I want to help. This has played out many times; apparently it is my turn to play this role, but I learned much from the earlier attempts. I can tell you how this went before and perhaps I can help things turn out better than they have until now.”

Cassandra, sounding not just angry now, but bewildered, says to Leliana, “She isn’t making sense.”

Leliana walks in front of the prisoner, gazing down from underneath her hood. She has her arms crossed over her chest. She says, “Convince us that you are rational.” 

Cassandra says, “You cannot mean to entertain this lunatic!”

Cassandra is now looking at Leliana, but Leliana’s gaze does not leave the prisoner. 

“Lunatic I might be. I can’t feel my legs and I can’t account for what brought me here, but I remember this moment. I know almost all of those who attended the conclave are dead—including Divine Justinia, Regalyan D'Marcall, and others, but not including the Lord Seeker nor Grand Enchanter Fiona. I know Cassandra brought Varric Tethras here to meet the Divine, but the meeting never happened, and all Varric has to show for it is a book with a sword hole through half of it. I know Solas has been keeping me alive, and Leliana was about to suggest that Cassandra take me to the forward camp, where we will meet Chancellor Roderick, who very much wants my head.”

Leliana and Cassandra look from the prisoner to each other. Leliana’s face is neutral, but Cassandra continues to embrace her inner rage demon. After a moment, Leliana looks back down, and asks in a conversational tone, “And who might you be?”

This feels important. Should she give her real name? Does she need a Thedas name? Why bother? “My name is Maite.”

Cassandra, whose sneer morphs enough to make it clear she finds this hilarious, says, “Mighty?”

Maite says, “Close in pronunciation, but a bit different. It means ‘loveable’ in the language of my father’s ancestors, though many of my students do call me ‘Mighty Professor’.”

Leliana steps closer and coos, “And just what was this language of your father’s ancestors?”

Maite says, “Basque, which I expect means little to you. I will happily explain this to the best of my understanding after we stabilize the Breach—well, three days or so after we stabilize the Breach. For now, please help me up. I can’t feel my legs and you are going to want me to walk to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, right?”

Cassandra, sounding more stunned than angry now, says, “Why should we trust you enough to let you out of here?”

Maite feels resigned. They will or they won’t. She says, “Suit yourself. I know you had plans to take me to a rift. As I’ve said, the Mark can close the rifts, and as for my bearing the Mark, it is no fault of yours that you got a geriatric Inquisitor…” Mistake.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have used that term. Not even Herald yet, right?” Another of those looks pass between Leliana and Cassandra as Maite continues, “Let’s just go with ‘prisoner’, OK? But I am not asking to roam free. I am suggesting that you, an armed, consummate warrior, accompany an unarmed, comparatively-frail woman, to the Temple. I assure you I will not try to flee. Where would I go when the Mark is killing me and only Solas can keep it from doing so?”

Leliana and Cassandra are yet again looking at each other. When playing the game, Maite had never noticed that Cassandra took her cues from Leliana. Is something different this time, or is this just a matter of perception?

Leliana nods at Cassandra and then, with a tiny motion, points her chin at Maite’s manacles. Cassandra stoops and unlocks them, and then each woman takes one arm; they try to help Maite rise. Maite’s legs are not cooperating. When they first get her up, her legs are just dragging. She eventually gets them under her and tries stiffly stomping while still keeping most of her support in her arms. As she works out the kinks in her body and becomes more upright, she realizes that she is much taller than either of these women.

In the game, they always seemed very tall, but no one ever mentioned precise heights. Maite remembers that Napoleon, at five and a half feet, was actually average height for men of his time. Nutrition matters. Maite estimates that Cassandra is no taller than five foot seven, and Leliana is even shorter. At a smidge over six feet tall, Maite has been the tallest woman in the room for most of her life, though lately she often meets younger women who are taller than she. So how tall is Cullen? Solas? Bull? Is this going to be awkward? Maite shakes her head and tries to focus on what will be most important for these first days.

“Leliana, may I talk with you alone for no more than five minutes?,” says Maite. “We all know you will be in no danger.”

Cassandra roughly pulls on her arm for a minute and says, “What could you want to say to her that you can’t to me?”

Maite says, “She is the Spymaster. I just want to tell her spy things.”

Once again, Leliana and Cassandra exchange glances, and Leliana nods. Cassandra walks to the door, but she looks at the two of them over her shoulder until the last moment, and she keeps up her sneer the entire time.

Once she is gone, Maite starts talking quickly. She is aware she is lapsing into her lecture patterns. Hopefully, Leliana won’t be offended. She says, “You have two agents: Faria and Butler. Butler kills Faria, as will be reported to you in as little as four days from now. You may be tempted to have the killer eliminated, but bad things happen if you carry out that execution; I can tell you that you need to bring Butler in and deal with things non-lethally.” Maite pauses for a moment and examines Leliana, who still has not reacted. She continues.

“More importantly, There is a magister from Tevinter named Gereon Alexius who is going to use time magic to show up at Redcliffe Village in the first two weeks after the eruption of the Breach. He will somehow convince Fiona to endenture the entire body of the rebel mages to the magister. Alexius is working for our opponent, who is Corypheus, or ‘The Elder One’. Corypheus is one of the ancient magisters who assaulted the Fade and are said to have brought the Blight to Thedas. His original name was Sethius Amladaris, though the existing Amladris family is not working with him—and neither is the government of Tevinter. 

“And the templars are not safe either. Lord Seeker Lucius is actually an aggressive nihilist: a member of the Order of Fiery Promise in league with Corypheus. He is slowly luring and killing all other active seekers. If you tell this to Cassandra, she will have trouble concentrating on much else. Timing is difficult to explain quickly, but if I had said nothing, you would have had no reason to look into this for months. By that time, they would have been at Caer Oswin, but I don't know about now. Meanwhile, there is an envy demon impersonating Lucius. Lucius and the templars—either now or soon—will end up at Therenfall Redoubt. Demon Lucius is slowly introducing red lyrium, which you know about from Kirkwall, to the templars and thus corrupting them to Corypheus’s service. By the time the Inquisitor and Cassandra go to Val Royeaux in several weeks time, many of the high level templars are compromised, though many of the low level are not. I know for sure Delrin Barris, who is currently with Mother Hevara, is not corrupted, but he won’t join the main body of templars until Cassandra and I go to Val Royeaux.”

Maite stops to look at Leliana whose face is still motionless. How reckless is she being? What horrible things will happen because Maite is not slipping into the story the way it was intended? But the story is already off—just by virtue of having _her_ in it rather than a lithe young thing. _Someone_ has decided to see how the story progresses with her in the starring role, and she just isn’t going to pretend to not know what she knows. And if she fails? No doubt another protagonist will be along on the next reset. 

She brings her attention back to Leliana. If Leliana is curious about what is going on in Maite’s mind, she isn’t showing it. Maite says, “Is there anything you want to ask me? I know this sounds insane, and there is no reason for you to believe me. I don’t ask you to. But when the Breach is stabilized and they bring back my unconscious body, start looking into it. I don’t have to caution you about how easy it would be to make a mess if this information got out. I could tell you more—for hours—but people are dying out there because they can’t close the rifts through which the demons are pouring.”

Leliana says, “Tell me something that will tell me—by the time you return from the Breach—that you are what you say you are.”

Maite thinks for a moment and says, “We will rescue some agents on a mountain path. A giant Pride demon will show up when we reopen—so that we can stabilize—the Breach. Everyone in the Temple of Sacred Ashes will witness parts of the Fade leaking into our world in such a way that they will hear the Divine’s voice—as well as mine and that of Corypheus—though they won’t know Corypheus’s name.” 

Maite stops for a moment and smiles with her eyes down. She says, softly, “By the time I return, I suspect Varric will have given me a nickname. I hope it won’t just be ‘Mighty’ or have anything to do with being an elderly woman.” Looking up again into Leliana’s eyes, she says, “I know this is a lot to ask. But what other choice do you have? If I am the lunatic we discussed earlier, I will most likely be dead soon and you will have bigger problems than my claims. At least you will know you seized every possible advantage in a horrible situation.”

Leliana nods and says, “As you say. Only one more question: why are you so calm?”

Maite feels herself grimacing. She says, “I’m probably in shock. I never in a million years expected to be in this situation. You may have to deal with my collapse later, if we are lucky. As for now, I’m actually quite worried. I don’t know if things will play out the way that I expect. Every other time I have watched this unfold, and there have been dozens, the person with the Mark was young and fit: I am neither. If I am doing my arithmetic correctly, I am at least twice your age, Leliana, and I am a scholar who works while reading in bed or sitting at a desk. To add to that, I have no warrior, rogue, or mage abilities. I am concerned that I will fail you. We might as well try; it isn’t like we have a way of moving the Mark to a more well-suited host.” 

Maite feels her face soften. The situation may be one of horror, but Maite has always survived by being amused by the small things. She has thought of one of those small things now, so she says, “Leliana, let’s be honest: you have heard insanity before that turned out to be factual. I’m not a werewolf, or a golem, or an abomination; I didn’t explode anything, and I don’t _think_ I’ve died and come back to life.” Maite thinks Leliana is probably panicking even though it doesn’t show. She tries to reassure by saying, “You may be out of options now, but fate willing, by the end of the day you should have more choices.”

Leliana, still remote and passive, says, “If we make it to the end of the day, I will keep this in mind,” and leads her up the stairs and out the door to Cassandra’s side. The effect of the Breach, and the sight of it in the sky, is more overwhelming than in the game. It even seems to be producing an ominous sound, though that could be something else going on in Haven.

Leliana walks to what Maite recognizes as her command tent, but before Cassandra can start leading them towards the temple, the Breach pulses, and Maite is driven to her knees—hissing with the pain. 

Cassandra approaches to help her up. She opens her mouth to speak, and Maite huffs out in an embarrassing replica of Cassandra’s accent, “Each time the breach expands, my Mark grows...and it is killing me.” 

Cassandra’s sneer morphs as her mouth drops open and she minutely recoils. After that, she clamps her mouth shut and Maite can practically hear her resolution to keep her thoughts to herself.

As soon as Maite is on her feet again, they walk through the village. Many villagers express their belief that Cassandra’s prisoner is unsavory, and Maite tries not to take it personally. 

However, unlike her times in the game, Maite knows the names and faces of most of those taunting her, and her eyes move between the observers to see if she can learn anything. Are any of these people agents of Corypheus? Of Solas? Even of the Qunari? Adan and Minaeve do not jeer at her, but Seggrit and Flissa do. She is not watching where she is going when suddenly she stumbles and rushes briefly forward before dropping hard onto her hands to keep from diving into the slush. 

Cassandra glares at the villagers as if it is their fault and approaches to help her up yet again. As Cassandra leans over, Maite mutters, “Flissa will be simpering at me and calling me ‘Your Grace’ in no time. But don’t worry, Seggrit will continue being an ass, no matter what.”

As Maite is once again fully vertical, she looks at Cassandra. Cassandra still exudes tension, but something makes her seem a little less pointedly angry at Maite. They continue on, and Cassandra does not say any of the other phrases from the game until she calls to a soldier, “Open the gate; we are heading into the valley.”

They pass through the gate and start trudging up the hill. Maite is aware she is moving more slowly than Cassandra would like, and she can hear the wet sounds from each plodding step distinctly—along with the sound of her own labored breathing. Half way to the next bridge, the Breach flares again and pain shoots from Maite’s hand up her arm. Her back snaps to rigidity, and she grits her teeth, but she doesn’t fall this time. When the green sparks stop shooting around her brain, she opens her eyes and finds Cassandra’s aggressively worried eyes close to her own. Poor Cass! If only Maite could give her a training dummy to quickly destroy!

Maite tries to smile, though Cassandra’s reaction makes it clear the smile does not succeed. Maite starts walking again, and Cassandra walks right next to her. As they reach the next bridge, Maite stops. She says, “Can we stop for just a moment? In what I have seen, a big chunk of Fade stuff hits this bridge and knocks us high into the air. I’m too old to be tossed around like that. Soon after the impact, two shades show up and fight us. I am afraid that for any fighting, it is going to have to be all you.” Maite doesn’t know if she is needlessly delaying things: If the meteor was going to hit, shouldn’t it have hit before now? Maite is so slow compared to all those jogging young folk... 

And...the bridge explodes. 

They can’t continue on without climbing down onto the frozen expanse of water below. As they start working their way down, Maite muses about timed versus event-triggered actuation, but her thoughts are forced back to the concrete when another ball of fade stuff hits the ice in front of her. When a shade rises from the the green smoke from the recent impact, Cassandra yells, “Stay up here,” and leaps down to engage the shade.

Maite stays back. She starts by watching Cassandra’s skilled battle, but soon she is craning her neck to see if there is anything in the rubble where the game always leaves an appropriate weapon for the new Herald. She sees no weapon, but there is something small and colorful in that spot. Her attention is dragged away from the colorful object by a sizzling sound coming from the ground between her and Cassandra. Of course—the second shade.

When in doubt, run to the tank, right? Maite scrambles down the remaining boulders to the ice and tucks herself behind Cassandra. Cassandra shield-slams the new shade and soon has both of them focused on her. Maite feels useless. She hovers awkwardly for a while, and then, as Cassandra is finishing off the shades, she approaches the small and colorful non-weapon she saw earlier: it is a tooled-leather book. Her tunic has what she thinks of as a game-pouch, so she puts the book in there without examining it and returns to Cassandra’s side.

Cassandra says, “I can see that we had best remain close during the fights. I would ask that you follow any directions I might give during a battle.”

Maite says, “I will do my best.”

They head up hill following the ice and rocks and Cassandra kills several more shades and wraiths without Maite being threatened. After a while, a set of snow-covered stairs wind up away from the frozen water they have traversed. Maite is moving slowly, and the shame of being more out of breath than the woman who has been wielding the heavy sword and board is making it even harder to breath smoothly. She wrenches her thoughts away from guilt and tries to decide how she will interact with Solas, Varric, and her first rift.

They finally top the stairs, and she can see the fighting ahead. Cassandra rushes in and tries to get the attention of the demons, which leaves Maite free to take in her first view of Solas and Varric. Solas is fighting several to the left and Varric is on the right. Maite doesn’t really want to be manhandled by Solas, so she goes to stand near Varric, who is flinging crossbow bolts into opponents ahead of him. During a slight pause in the fighting, Varric turns towards her and looks her up and down.

Varric is every bit as magnificent in person. He is about five feet tall, and very muscular. His hair shines and his chest hair is silky enough that Maite starts thinking of scenarios in which she would be allowed to touch it. Varric drags her back to the immediate by saying, “Just going to stand there, Pillar?”

It occurs to Maite that there might be something she could do to help, and she might as well start investigating now. She fires back, “No, Plinth, I think I will try disrupting this rift,” and she raises her left hand high, hoping fervently that it won’t hurt too much. Just putting her hand up near the rift seems to start the disruption: A green set of ribbons runs between her hand and the rift, and then there is a small light show and all the demons freeze. Maite is aware of her hand, but she wouldn’t say the disruption was painful.

Cassandra, Solas, and Varric all take immediate advantage of the stunned demons. Without taking his attention from his opponents, Varric speaks through a crooked smile, “You respond to ‘Pillar’ with ‘Plinth’ and you can stun demons. I might just like you!”

Maite grins and says, “That’s good, Varric Tethras, because I seriously love you— _and_ Bianca!” 

Solas is still fighting, but she can tell she and Varric have part of his attention. In person it is much easier to understand why people keep calling Solas a hobo. He is the only one of them who actually has a pack, several other attached containers, and quite a lot of evident mending. There is also something about the dirt on his outfit that looks carefully placed. Solas notices her looking at him and gives her a weak smile. Maite remembers that this is the part of the timeline where Solas is going out of his way to seem genial and approachable. Solas is close to Cassandra’s height—perhaps a bit taller.

The last demon falls, and Maite puts her hand up again; the ribbons run, and the rift blinks out of existence. This time her hand does hurt, but not as much as it did when the Breach pulsed. All three of the others are frozen in place looking at her. Cassandra looks relieved, Varric looks like he wants to buy her a drink, and Solas has a very forced-looking smile on his face.

Varric recovers first. He saunters forward and says, “Here I thought we were going to be ass-deep in demons forever! And you are, I presume, an old friend of Bianca’s?”

Cassandra approaches saying, “Her name is Maite, and she claims to be from our future.”

Solas says, “Fascinating, if true, though it should not be possible.”

Maite says, “Once the Breach is stabilized, we can talk about how I know you all. Please don’t spread it beyond our party. And Solas, unless I fail us, you are going to encounter many things that should not be possible.” Maite figures that is enough to get his attention. She doesn’t want him panicking.

Cassandra says, “Once again, you mention stabilizing the Breach. Does this mean we will be unable to close it?”

Maite shakes her head. Assuming I am strong enough, we will be able to close the Breach—just not today. But today we can stabilize it, and that will buy us the time to acquire the strength to close it.

Solas says, “You know what will happen to us today? Do you mean to share?”

Maite says, “The four of us go into the valley…”

Cassandra interrupts saying, “As you said earlier, Maite, I brought Varric here to tell his story to the Divine; clearly that is no longer necessary.”

Maite says, “We need Bianca, Cassandra, and I don’t think she would be willing to come without Varric.” Cassandra looks like she wants to object. She opens her mouth but then she clamps it shut and grits her teeth. Varric is looking at her like she just told an excellent joke. She braces for an aggressive pat on the back, but it doesn’t come. She says, “What will happen: Valley, fight, kill, rift, Roderick, mountain pass, rift, Temple, rendez-vous with Leliana, listen to hallucinations among red lyrium, open Breach, fight Pride demon, stabilize, pass out...and make all the rest of you do the work of getting me back to Haven. Any questions?”

Clearly off-balance, Varric says, “Did you say _red lyrium_ , Pillar?”

Giving Varric a look that she is sure he will interpret as portentous, Maite says, “Yes, and we are going to want to talk about that at length when we have more time.”

Varric says, “Well...shit.”

While Varric is talking, Solas is walking towards Maite. He reaches towards her marked hand and waits for her permission. She says, “ _Sathan_ , Solas; I know I owe you my life for tending me while I slept.”

He pauses, smiles broadly—although his brow is furrowed—takes her hand, and says, “ _Dirthan Elvhen?_ ”

She doesn’t know the exact phrase he used, but she can guess. She nods a quick bow and says, “ _Ir abelas. Teldirthan Elvhen._ All I ever learned are the things you say when you are being friendly.” He returns her nod, strokes her palm, and she feels soothing blue ice calming her hand. She wonders if he understands that the “you” in what she said really is him, specifically. She only ever learned the Elvhen that Solas uses in game. When he finishes, she says, “ _Ma serannas, ma falon._ ” She realizes “falon” is too intimate for their current relationship, but with the implication that she knows the future, she doesn’t want Solas thinking he has to flee.

They all go back down to the frozen river, and they kill several more demons. Maite keeps out of the fights, and Varric throws several questioning looks her way. Maite shurgs apologetically. 

On the way up another snow-covered stairway, Varric says, “So, are you innocent?”

Maite says, “Innocent in general? No. Innocent of the explosion at the conclave, yes. The person who caused the explosion is someone you and Hawke have fought before, Varric, but let’s save that sensitive conversation for later, ok?”

Varric says, “Hang on! Are you saying this explosion was aimed at me?”

Responding to the shock and urgency in Varric’s voice, Maite quickly says, “Oh no! I doubt he knew you were here. You fought him in the Free marches.”

Varric grumbles, “That doesn’t exactly narrow it down a lot. I’m going to hold you to that conversation, you know.”

They continue to head uphill, fighting demons as they go. Maite is the most out of breath, despite the fact that she contributes nothing to the fights. Eventually they reach the rift outside the gate to the forward camp. Agents on the wall call for help, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas quickly take down the demons, and Maite seals the rift.

Before they can approach the gate, Maite calls to the other three to come close. Once they are near, she says, “Chancellor Roderick is on that bridge, and he is going to be a pain in the ass. Please try something with me. Secure my arms in front of me and then parade me in. Tell the Chancellor that before taking me in for trial, you are requiring me to help undo some of the damage. Crow about the two rifts you have ‘forced me’ to close and say after I attempt to close the Breach, you will be taking me for trial. I will look cowed. I may say something submissive. The man is a control freak, but if you put his back up, he does all sorts of unpleasant things that hurt the Inquisition as it grows.”

Varric says, “Inquisition?”

Maite sucks air in through her clenched teeth and then says, “Damn it! I don’t think they’ve announced it yet, but Leliana and Cassandra have a writ from Divine Justinia to found the Inquisition, which will be the name of the organization that fights to seal the Breach. The Chantry opposes the Inquisition, and that causes all sorts of trouble. If we can suck up to Roderick a little now, it might save us some pain later. At least I think it is worth a shot.” She catches sight of the dubious expression on Cassandra’s face and says, “This will only work if you are willing to push it, Cassandra. While Solas and Varric are great at playing a role, Roderick will never accept it from anyone but you. You have to sell your authority over me, your alliance with him, and your plan to take me to Val Royeaux. If it helps, we really will go to Val Royeaux soon, though it won’t be in the next week or so. You have to avoid attacking him directly. Can you do this, Cassandra?”

Cassandra looks torn. She says, “While I am unfamiliar with the term, ‘suck up’, I think I understand… And this is vital to the success of our new organization?”

Maite says, “I believe it to be so.”

Cassandra says, “You have been right about so many things… “ Cassandra closes her eyes and drops her head. Maite can see her lips moving. Maite is sure Cassandra is praying. Finally Cassandra raises her head and says, “You are correct that I am not well versed in dissembling, but this would not be the first time I have done things with which I have little comfort. I will try. But I have nothing with which to tie your hands.”

Maite says, “Solas, might we use the leather cord on which your wolf jawbone rests? Cassandra, can you assure him that you will not damage it or cut it?”

Cassandra hastens to assure Solas she will take care. Solas locks eyes with Maite while raising a skeptical eyebrow, but he fishes the jawbone out of where it is hidden underneath his vest. He hands it to Maite, and she positions the bone in her palm so that it is hidden, and then presents her fists, joined at the forefingers, to Cassandra. The bone is warm and smooth, and Maite imagines that she feels a slight vibration in it. Cassandra wraps the leather thong around Maite’s wrists and then tucks the end knot back into her hand. She is not bound at all, but with luck, Chancellor Roderick will not know this.

Cassandra calls out, “Open the Gate,” as she grabs Maite’s forearm and starts leading her forcefully. Maite drops her eyes, hunches her shoulders, and concentrates on looking cowed. She doesn’t even look up when she hears Leliana’s voice.

As they get near, Chancellor Roderick says, “Ah. Here they come.”

Maite knows that the next voice is usually Leliana’s as she tries to introduce them, but Cassandra cuts in. She says, “Chancellor Roderick. Thank goodness. We have the prisoner prepared for transport to Val Royeaux, but as it is too late to leave today, we decided to see if she could be forced to undo some of the damage that has been inflicted. She has been...encouraged…to close two rifts. Successfully, I might add. We are going to take her up to the mountain pass where our agents disappeared. We assure you, at the sign of anything we can’t handle, we will retreat before we run the risk of losing the prisoner.” 

Maite keeps her head down but peeks under her lashes. Roderick is the first person she has seen who looks to be near her age. He does not look convinced, but at least he isn’t ordering Cassandra around. Maite decides to speak up. She pleads with the chancellor, “Chancellor, please protect me from her. Won’t you come to the mountain pass with us? Won’t you ensure that she does not hurt me any more? I swear I didn’t have anything to do with the explosion!” She sneaks a look at Leliana, who blinks several times and then crosses her arms across her chest and waits with an air of expectation. Right on cue, another chunk of debris falls from the sky, and Maite’s hand flares. This time she lets herself cry out pitifully. She can feel Solas start moving towards her, but she twists her hips and checks him gently. He seems to get the message.

The chancellor sputters, “Criminals do not decide where the Grand Chancellor of the Chantry goes. If the Right Hand of the Divine has hurt you, it was justified. Do as you are told and take solace in your coming trial. Throw yourself on the mercy of the Chantry, and you may yet be redeemed.” The chancellor turns to Cassandra and says, “Are you determined to proceed with this nonsense? This situation is hopeless and we need to return to the fortifications at Haven.”

Cassandra says, “I am sure you are correct, Chancellor. We will call a retreat soon, but I can’t face the revered mothers without having tried to save more of the faithful from the demons that our enemies have loosed upon us. I assure you that I will take no unnecessary risks, and I will return with the prisoner for transport. We can leave in the morning. Perhaps you could return to Haven to make sure we have an appropriate horse and wagon for the morning? That would be a load off of my shoulders. The path between here and Haven is lately demon and rift free.”

The chancellor looks smug. He looks around him, and then focuses on Leliana. He says, “Do you see what can happen when reasonable people cooperate? I will return to Haven at once.” The Chancellor packs up, and Maite whimpers softly as he does so. She does the standard “don’t notice me, I am small” thing that all tall women know how to do. Soon Roderick, and several attendant functionaries, stride off towards Haven.

Once he is gone, Maite straightens her spine, hands the wolf-jaw back to Solas, and says to Leliana, “Get all your soldiers to the temple, and we will meet you on the other side of the pass.” 

Leliana is smiling, for the first time that Maite has seen in person. All Leliana says is, “Understood,” before she strides off towards the gate through which Maite so recently entered. 

After Solas rearranges his pendant, Maite’s party heads off towards the other end of the bridge and a steep climb towards the abandoned mines. Maite just barely hears Cassandra muttering, “I can’t believe it,” and she can see Cassandra shaking her head as she walks.

It doesn’t take long before Maite is huffing and puffing and once again being the weakest link. She is so embarrassed, and she notices that both Varric and Solas are giving her questioning glances. Maite finds her inadequacy upsetting in a way that the pain of the Mark has not been. She feels a knot in her throat and she fears she might cry. Solas calls a halt and approaches her.

Solas says, “Something tells me you are not used to high altitudes.”

Maite replies, “No, I live at sea level.” Is he trying to give her an excuse?

Solas says, “Just so. May I cast a spell on you? It might help you breath more easily. I realize it is much to ask, but…”

Maite interrupts with, “Solas, I trust you completely. Cast anything on me that might help.” She holds his eyes for a moment with what she hopes he will see as trust and regard.

Solas nods in acceptance and takes hold of the wrist of her marked hand, and soon the soothing blue feeling is noticeable not just in her hand but also in her chest and her hip joints. She feels several aches recede, and her chest no longer feels tight. She wonders if he is learning anything about her. Maybe she is over exaggerating his abilities, but it hardly matters. Anything he can learn from her body she would be willing to tell him. She wonders what he would make of her dental work or the metal pin in her leg. She wonders what he is doing. Is this like a restoration potion? Is she increasing her stamina or its generation?

She has an easier time walking after Solas’s intervention. No one is jogging up the trail the way they do in-game, but she isn’t as wound up about holding the party back. They continue on, find the abandoned mining tunnel and some dead soldiers, close the rift, and receive gratitude from the remaining soldiers. It is far from humdrum, but it seems to progress as the game portrayed, and in any case, it all blurs together until they are at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

Maite loses any lingering sense of detachment once they reach the Temple of Sacred Ashes. She has seen horrible things portrayed in large movie theaters, but this is different. Solidified remnants of humans who were killed, burned and decaying, emerge from the ground as if the ground had been fluid. The smell, the sights, the ominous hum of the Breach: all overwhelming. Maite catches sight of Cassandra, who looks determined, as she has during most of the trip. Cassandra could be wondering if one of these horrific figures is her old lover, Regalyan. If Cassandra can deal with this, Maite can. 

Leliana and company meet them as they start descending the stairs to the Breach. Even stoic Leliana looks relieved as she says, “You’re here! Thank the Maker!” She zeros in on Cassandra and asks, “I take it from your performance with Roderick that you have decided that she is as she claims?”

Cassandra, who almost seems too tired to be angry anymore, says, “Very much so. Let us pray that this day will end as she has said. Have your men take up positions around the temple. Make sure they know to stay as far from the red lyrium as they can.”

Maite says, “I know the way down. This is our chance. I hope you enjoy the audio portion of our programming.”

No one says anything to her as they follow her. She can’t have made sense, but perhaps even more of what she has said has been cryptic than she has thought.

Sure enough, as they reach a landing before descending further, Corypheus’s voice booms out, “Now is the hour of our victory; bring forth the sacrifice.”

Maite looks at Varric, and she thinks he might recognize that voice. She says, “That’s him. That is our big bad.” She can see Varric’s jaws clench. Glancing behind her, it seems Varric isn’t the only one. No one even says anything when they start passing red lyrium, but Varric shoots her another glance. He looks accusing. He knows she didn’t do this, right?

Then Corypheus’s voice booms out again, “Keep the sacrifice still.”

Followed by Justinia’s voice crying out, “Someone, help me!”

Cassandra says, “That is...Divine Justinia’s voice.” She sounded wounded when she first started talking, but by the end of the sentence, it was like she ran out of steam. Maite can comfort Cassandra in the weeks to come. For the moment, she keeps going down and she reaches the floor of the temple just below the Breach.

A voice booms out again, but this time it is her voice. “What’s going on here?” Maite remembers that sentence, but it had never been her voice saying it before. She certainly doesn’t remember interrupting the ceremony. She turns back to Cassandra.

Cassandra says, “That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you.”

Maite nods and says, “I was trying to help her.” Cassandra looks stricken.

Now the mist around the Breach starts showing a green-tinged re-enactment, and everyone can see the Divine restrained and Maite running forward. The Divine yells, “Run while you can! Warn them!”

The re-enactment does not show Corypheus, but his voice booms out, “We have an intruder. Kill her, now!” And then the Breach flares and the vision disperses.

Cassandra rushes forward and she is clearly about to speak, but Maite raises her hand in the universal “stop” gesture. Maite says, “Yes, this happened, and I will tell you all about it, and everything else, in detail after we stabilize the Breach. When I open the Breach, a gigantic pride demon will show up. As you know, I will be of little use in fighting it, but I can stun it from time to time. There will be little demons too. Just try to keep things off of me.”

Maite looks into the face of each of her three companions and nods. Solas, in particular, looks like he is having to struggle hard to keep from talking. Maite smiles wanly at him, and he takes her hand and passes his blue ice magic through her. She is as ready as she will ever be.

Maite says, then I will talk with each of you in a few days. Don’t talk to those outside the inner circle about this. Have hope. I _know_ we will be able to seal this. Have patience.” 

Maite nods to Cassandra who yells out to the agents on all sides, “Stand ready for demons!”

Maite puts her hand up, the ribbons run, and the pride demon appears. Maite stays near Varric and Solas, and no demon gets anywhere near her. Three times she disrupts the rift, and three times the demon is stunned and takes serious damage. Several soldiers are down by the time the pride demon falls, but no one in the main party has been hurt.

It is time. Maite hopes she can do this. She puts up her hand and starts channeling. The ribbons run, but there the similarity to the earlier rifts stops. She feels like she is holding her breath and long out of oxygen. She is getting weaker and her awareness of anything but pain and fear recede from her mind. She isn’t going to make it. She can feel that she isn’t enough. These poor people are depending on her and she...can’t...do...it. She drops to one knee—no longer even looking up at the Breach—but she keeps her left hand raised.

But then Solas is touching her and for a moment, she fears she will lose her connection all together. He murmurs in her ear, “Keep focusing. I will lend you my strength,” and she feels his blue ice running through her body once more. Solas helps her to her feet again.

She can sense that she is reaching the end of the channel. She is going to do it! It still hurts, but pain is so much more tolerable now that she can feel the relief of impendinging success flood her body. A large green explosion flares, and the Breach is stable. Maite never saw that scene in game. She expected to be unconscious by now. She turns to Solas, confused, and says, “We...it...but I…”

And then darkness comes for her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maite discovers the first big change she has caused in the Thedas timeline. She discusses sin and villainy with Solas.

Someone is calling to Maite. Swimming up through dark waters, she tries to respond, but everything is thick, and she is being pulled back down into the quiet. Her name. She hears her name. Sing-song, like her mother used to call her—like the way she once called her own children. But her mother is long dead and her children are adults and far from...Thedas! A little jolt of adrenaline makes it easier to push back against the heaviness. She feels her eyelids flutter, and it is still dark, but there is a glow. Probably a candle. Who is calling? Someone is holding her hand and stroking her forearm.

“Mai-te…” Soft Orlesian tones resolve to Leliana. She opens her eyes wider and she sees Leliana sitting on the side of her bed.

Maite wants to respond. Finally she produces a groan that might be, “Leliana.”

Leliana says, “I apologize for the interruption, and I will try to make it quick. I have asked Solas to wake you, and he says this will not be harmful as long as our consultation is brief.” Maite is listening, but Leliana has stopped. The silence stretches. Maite thinks Leliana is either embarrassed or fighting hard for the right words. Finally, Leliana says in a rush, “You gave me Mother Hevara’s name, and I sent a raven to her. I told her you were our prisoner, and that Chancellor Roderick suggested we take you to Val Royeaux for trial, but that we had used your abilities to close rifts and stabilize the Breach, and that you were amenable to helping us.”

Well. This is fascinating. Nothing like this ever happened in the game—at least not that she knew. And something must have come of it or Leliana would not have asked for this discussion.

Leliana continues, “She has written back. She wasn’t exactly friendly, but she did ask that we not come to Val Royeaux immediately, but that we help Mother Giselle in the Hinterlands. She was rather dismissive, but she says if we can close rifts, we should do so and perhaps encourage some of the miscreants towards better behavior.”

Maite may be barely awake, but this is funny. She starts to laugh, which turns into a cough, and then she becomes aware that Solas is in the room—room, not cell—when Solas takes her hand and she feels his familiar blue ice. Solas says, “Spymaster, do you remember my cautions?”

Leliana says, “You told Cassandra that Roderick causes problems. How should we deal with this?”

Maite can talk, she is sure she can, but putting a single word out seems difficult. She says, “Ask. Him.”

Leliana is quick. She says, “Oh, you mean to turn him to our side by asking his help? Make him feel like he is part of the decision?”

Maite says, “Exactly. Consult. Ask him...be sounding board. Talk about ...doubts about me. Then express confusion with your other data—sorry, information. Let him lead you to decision...taking me to Hinterlands.” Maite doesn’t feel so weighed down now. She places her palms by her hips and tries to sit up a bit in the bed.

Solas says, “You don’t need to rise, _Ghi’lan_.”

Maite laughs again, and this time it sounds stronger, and it doesn’t lead to a cough. She says, “You are very kind, but please stop fussing.” Teacher! _What in the hell! Solas is calling her, Teacher!_ She arranges herself a little more comfortably. 

Maite takes Leliana’s hand and pats it gently. She says, “You did really well sending that raven. I didn’t tell you, but I was actually worrying that our little show with Roderick would trap us into going to Val Royeaux first. From what I have seen, the Hinterlands needs us desperately. You just have to continue on as you have done, my dear: bring Roderick into the tent where you can watch him. Consult with him. Make him see that you are respecting the Chantry—and his input. He will no doubt have many arguments, but you and Josie can handle those. For example, when he says that Mother Hevara is not the Divine, ask for his advice on how to deal with this and how the remaining mothers will feel if we, as a fledgling organization with an Andrastian focus, flout Mother Hevara’s advice. Don’t order him: tell him enough that he joins the consensus. Cede no real power to him; just consult with him—maybe even give him a title. ‘Soul of the Inquisition’ or some such meaningless verbiage. In what I have seen, Solas, Varric, Cassandra, and I go to the Crossroads and meet with Mother Giselle, and she ends up coming to Haven. You will then have her voice to add to the mix, and if Roderick honors Mother Giselle, who is going to be quite pro-Inquisition, so much the better.”

Leliana squeezes Maite’s hand. She says, obviously picking over the unfamiliar phrase, “Into the tent. Of course. You make me feel bad for having insisted on waking you.” She stands and moves towards the door.

Maite says, “Leliana. Are they calling me the Herald of Andraste?”

Leliana says, “Many are.” Maite can’t tell, but Leliana might sound embarrassed. She finds this encouraging. When Maite was Leliana’s enemy, she never detected any emotion in Leliana. Now Maite is an ally. It’s a step.

Maite says, “In what I have seen, Roderick’s discomfort with that appellation caused problems. Talk to Roderick about it. Bring up everything. _You_ didn’t come up with the name. But the Divine was in danger, and I did try to help her, and then she helped me. I have abilities we need to fight the, for lack of a better name, forces of evil. Let him be part of the discussion about if it would be prudent to fly in the face of the hope these battered believers have clung to. Just remember that he is not a bad person for having trouble moving from my being a guilty prisoner to my being a savior.

“Leliana, Roderick isn’t the only one who is going to have a great deal of trouble with me. Roderick is just window dressing, but crucial to our success is Commander Rutherford. Be gentle with him, but don’t let him disturb any mages. I’ve considered this, and...is it possible that either Rylen or Lysette could travel with Varric, Solas, Cassandra, and me? I am useless as a fighter, and if we had a templar with us, that might help Cullen. I don’t think either of them are slavishly devoted to dogma.”

Leliana says, “I will discuss this with Josephine and Cassandra.” After a pause, she says, “ _Are_ you Andrastian?”

Solas says, “I think she will be more equipped to answer that once she is well rested.”

Once again, Leliana says, “Of course. We can hold off discussing Redcliffe and Therinfal as well.” Leliana leaves the room. Maite treasures the small smile she gives before closing the door.

Maite looks over to Solas, who has moved towards what looks like a small table. When he turns back, he has a bowl with a spoon poking over the edge. He says, “I didn’t tell her, but the opportunity to make sure you had food and water made waking you worth it.” He sits on the bed next to her and moves as if to feed her, but she doesn’t want that, so she reaches for the spoon. 

When he raises one eyebrow, she huffs at him, sits up a bit more, and says, “You mean you didn’t just want to brush herbed honey on my lips?” Solas freezes, and she has no trouble taking the bowl from him. It is warm, even after the conversation with Leliana. What is she saying? Of course it is warm. Perhaps some rune thing. Doesn’t matter. The bowl contains a thick broth with no solids. If she were home, she might tell someone she had a meat smoothie. She eats several spoonfuls, and it is delicious. She has no idea if she would normally think it is delicious, but “Hunger is the best sauce” and all that. The spoon starts to get heavy, so she rests it back in the bowl and drops the bowl into her lap. She looks up at Solas, who hasn’t moved.

“Oh dear,” she says. “That wasn’t a threat. I won’t tell them you are the only person in Haven older than I am. You can keep up that, ‘I learned it in the Fade’ nonsense as long as you like. And yes, I know you are Fen’Harel. In fact, I think that must be why I am here. I’ve listened as you told a previous Inquisitor that his world would burn in the raw chaos when you tore down the veil. But that was long after you helped him close the Breach and kill Corypheus.”

Solas’s head is bowed. He has that sad frown he wears throughout the final encounter in Trespasser. Without raising his head, he says, “Why do you call me _falon_ when you believe I will destroy your world?”

Maite takes Solas’s hand and pats it the way she did Leliana’s. She says, “Not that this is the most important reason, but this isn’t _my_ world.” Then she says, more as an afterthought than anything else, “Though clearly our worlds are connected in some way. And despite the fact that many in the future will think of you as a villain, I _like_ you. I’ve liked you since I first saw you, years and years ago. You have been a tragic figure and a hero that the world little credits. I have no knowledge of your future acts after your last conversation with the Inquisitor, but my guess is that there is some way to restore your people without destroying the other beings of this world, and _Someone_ keeps experimenting with us in hopes of convincing you to take that route. This is just a guess, mind you. It is possible that my being here after learning all about you, and about the different people of Thedas, is a complete coincidence. Or, it could be that my being here is purposeful, but it is pointed at making you weaker. I have no way of knowing. All I can do is follow my own lights and try to deal fairly with everyone.”

Solas, still sporting his sad puppy dog face, says, “You believe you were brought here by the Maker?”

Maite says, “I once heard someone wise say that they believe ‘in cause and effect, wisdom as its own reward and the inherent right of all free willed people to exist.’ That fits my beliefs pretty well. I am a scientist. Actually, I’m an engineer, but I am not even sure if that word means the same thing here. I have watched representations of events here—many times—so there is some way that events here are leaking into my world, but I have no knowledge of the mechanisms. There are mathematicians from my world who have proved that it is impossible to use a formal system such that it describes every aspect of that system. I guess I am taking my being here as evidence that there is something outside our systems.” 

She pauses for a moment and raises Solas’s chin so that she can look into his eyes. She smiles, trying to see if he will smile back. He does not, but something softens in his face. She drops his chin, picks up the, now cooler, bowl again, and says, “Lord, I would give a lot to see you have a conversation with Gödel,” as she brings the spoon to her mouth.

He says, “Another time, I would like to know who Gödel is, to ask you why you invoked a deity given your views, and to learn more about your world. For now, you really do need to recover from your exertions. You have also given me a concern that I could not have imagined before this moment: when the others find out that you knew about me—years from now—they will condemn you. How can I subject you to that?”

Maite says, “I’ve been thinking. It really is true that we need you. I don’t think we can close the Breach or defeat Corypheus without you, and we both know what would happen if they realized you were the indirect cause of the Breach. I’ve seen what happens to this world if the Breach and Corypheus are left unchecked, and it is beyond horrible.” Solas still looks sad, but she can tell he is thinking hard. She asks, “Is it possible to cast a spell on me that prevents me from revealing you as an ancient elf for a set period of time or until various conditions are true? Such as, if you reveal it, I can discuss it, or after the Breach is closed, I can discuss it?”

Solas says, hesitantly, “I could force you to forget what you know about me.”

Maite says, “I don’t think that is a good idea. My brain is my favorite organ; I really don’t like the idea of having it messed with.” She grins at him, which makes him blink. “Besides, our conversations about how science and magic fit together are one of the things I am most looking forward to.”

Solas nods in agreement. He says, “In truth, I would rather not cast such coercive magic, and I am unsure what the consequences would be of casting on a …”

“Aging mortal,” she says. “You can say it.”

“Person bearing the Mark from my orb,” finishes Solas. Solas has a look of admonishment when he finishes the sentence. This is so much better than the previous face of mourning.

Maite says, “We have some time. You can consider it while we travel to the Hinterlands.” She yawns, and Solas takes the bowl out of her hands. She scoots down to a lying position, but she grabs his hand. She says, “I’ve always loved your voice, and at home, I listen to things when I turn in for the night. Would you be willing to tell me pleasant stories from the Fade until I fall asleep?”

Solas says, “ _Ma nuvenin_. I met a friendly spirit who observed the dreams of village girls…”

Maite smiles. She does not let go of Solas’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter than I usually publish, but it seemed an appropriate chunk of story.
> 
> So, how can Maite and Solas reach an agreement that leaves each of them feeling safer?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maite meets Josephine and Cullen. Maite is a big derp.

When next Maite awakens, she is alone. She sits up and looks in every corner, and then she gets out of bed to stoop and look under the bed frame. There are no elven servants to be startled. Next to her bed, she sees a wide-toothed comb, a leather tie, a pitcher of water, a metal basin, a contraption like a warming stand, a small cloth, a cup, and a slightly wrinkled apple. She lights the warming dish from the fireplace, and then she places the filled metal basin atop it. She combs and rebraids her long hair, and then she is able to freshen up with lukewarm water. She is unsure what to do with the wet cloth; she folds it and balances it on the side of the bowl. 

She sits, eats her apple, and sips some water as she considers her confusion about what to do with a used washcloth. She knows so much about the large events, but she has no idea how to considerately leave things in her cabin given her knowledge that a servant might pick up after her. In Thedas, she doesn’t know how to set a table or which acts require thanks. In the game, they talk about the dismaying complications of Orlesian etiquette, but Maite is lost even with simple Fereldan manners. When to offer a hand, when to bow, when to use that chest salute they show. She will watch. No doubt Josephine can help her. Josephine. Well, time to face the music.

Maite opens the door expecting to find worshippers in columns herding her to the Chantry, but when she emerges, she finds absolutely no one outside. Hmm. Perhaps this was exaggerated for the game, or perhaps this was not one of the event-triggered situations … or perhaps she has already screwed things up in some way. 

She walks casually up the path to the Chantry; no one gives her a second glance. When she gets to the door, the seal-encrusted declaration of the founding of the Inquisition is attached, so she supposes she can now refer to the Inquisition as an organization without having to wonder if she is confusing people.

The Chantry hallway is cool, soothing, and quiet. Maite can hear murmured voices, but she doesn’t see the owners of the voices. She walks down to what she thinks is the door to Josephine’s office and knocks.

“Adelante,” sings a welcoming voice that must be Josephine’s. Maite opens the door to find Josephine writing while looking down. Josephine says, “Leli, do you think she will like… Oh!” Josephine’s look of surprise on looking up is adorable. Maite doesn’t remember Josephine being surprised in the game; she wonders if she will ever see it again. Josephine hastily stands and curtsies. She actually curtsies and stays dipped. Josephine is petite, and she could easily have found work as a Disney princess had she lived in twenty-first century Florida. Josephine says, “Your Grace…”

Maite steps forward and interrupts Josephine by presenting her hands, which Josephine takes. Maite pulls Josephine to her feet. Maite feels like a lanky giant next to a porcelain doll. She says, “Oh, Josephine! I understand that you have to use titles when there are visiting nobles, but this is just you and me. I am sure Leliana has told you that, while you don’t know me, I have known you for years, and it would make me very happy if you could begin thinking of me as a friend. I’m going to need a lot of your help, and I think I will be able to make some of your tasks easier too. I don’t understand standards of conduct here, and if I am going to offend someone, I would much rather do it on purpose.” She beams at Josephine, hoping that she understands the joke. 

Maite sees Josephine as a lifeline to sanity. All the other members of the Inquisition are so casually dismissive of murder and cruelty. Maite loves video games, so she understands the stance, but this is no longer just a game, and Maite wants to remember that she doesn’t normally condone killing innocents as a way of furthering a plot.

Josephine’s eyes may widen a little, but it passes so quickly that Maite isn’t sure—and she does politely breath out what Maite can interpret as a laugh. Josephine says, “Of course, Your… uh...please, have a seat. Shall I call for the other advisors? I assure you, they would have been assembled if they had known you were once again able to entertain company.”

Maite says, “There will be time for that. Would it be OK if you and I talked for a bit?”

Josephine walks over to a credenza on the side of the room, and gathers a salver with apparent small objects upon it; after returning to the desk, she opens a drawer and takes out a tea service. Placing a cup atop a saucer, she fills the cup three quarters full and then asks, “Black? Sugar? Limón?”

Maite raises her nose and inhales deeply. Through a smile of genuine pleasure, she says, “Earl Grey tea! You have Earl Grey tea! Black, please.”

As she hands Maite the teacup, Josephine says, “Arl Grey, you say? We call it _Bergamota_ , and I am afraid you would be very unlikely to be offered this tea by anyone other than an Antivan.” 

Maite says, respectfully, “Oooh! You honor me! Does it taste of home? I am sorry to be reducing your precious stock.”

“Think nothing of it. It is the more precious for sharing it with someone who appreciates it as I do. Would you care for a sweet?” she says while lifting the salver and offering it to Maite.

Maite takes a piece and pops it into her mouth. She bites down and finds dark chocolate delicately laced with orange liqueur that goes perfectly with the tea. “Oh my God,” says Maite. “You are never going to get rid of me if you keep offering me such treats!”

Josephine chuckles and says, “As if I would ever wish to get rid of you. Now, first things first. How would you like me to refer to you—when alone? When with others? When I speak of you to others?”

“Maite says, “Where I come from, my full name, with honorific, is Professor Maite Otxoa, but I will leave it to you how many of those words to use on formal occasions. Is my having a surname expected? Would it be better to just call me Maite? Forgive me for sounding presumptuous, but am I being called the Herald?”

Josephine tilts her head. She says, “Your name almost sounds Antivan, or perhaps Rivaini. Being from Rivain might explain your being a seer. And yes, you are now our Herald—and even the Grand Chancellor approves of its use.”

Maite says, “That is a story I must hear sometime. If I am ‘The Herald’ then perhaps on formal occasions I should be ‘Herald Maite’. But you understand subtleties I do not, and while I prefer that my friends call me Maite, beyond that, I would ask you to choose if I ever use professor or if I am Herald Maite or Herald Otxoa.

Josephine says, “Very well. For the moment, you are Maite or Herald Maite. We will consider embellishments as we move forward.”

“Now that that is settled, another issue of importance: while those in charge here know I have knowledge of the future, I don’t think we should be letting anyone else know that I have such knowledge. I believe that if the Qun—or some of those in Tevinter—knew this, my life would be even more in danger. I also know that now, or sometime soon, there will be those who are part of the Inquisition who are actually agents for other powers.”

Josephine, peeking over her own teacup, says, “These are grave considerations, and we have discussed this and have come to the same conclusions that you have. Not even Roderick knows of your foreknowledge. But Maite, you have managed to communicate your singular nature to practically everyone with whom you have spoken, I feel more that I should be cautioning you than the other way around. Of course, discussing this with those who travel with you is unavoidable, but in Haven, it should be only discussed with the leaders.”

Maite has to admit that Josie is right. But there is purposeful communication and there is accidental communication. Maite says, “I can avoid predicting the future in front of strangers, but _I am strange_. By that I mean that my behavior does not match expectations. There isn’t even a concept for what I am. I am not a seer. It is more that—as a form of entertainment, I am afraid—I have watched the events from the opening of the Breach to a few years from now over and over with different people serving as Herald.” Maite pauses to take a sip of tea. 

Maite says, “About my strangeness: I said that I wasn’t really a seer, but even more than that: I am not from Rivain—or from anywhere that anyone from Thedas could conceive of. If you need me to pretend to be from a specific country, I will require coaching. ”

There Josephine is with that sparkling head tilt again. She says, “Coaching?”

Maite laughs and says, “Instruction; training. And see? My words, my manners: I am strange. Please help me present an appropriate face!”

Josephine looks sympathetic and reaches for Maite’s forearm. She says, “Do not be concerned. I am sure between the two of us, we will figure everything out.” Maite pats Josephine’s hand, and then the two women briefly sit in companionable silence and drink tea. Josephine presses another chocolate on Maite, and Maite accepts. Josephine eventually says, “If you don’t mind my asking, why does Varric call you Pilar?”

Maite can feel her brows drawing together. She says, “Pilar? Oh… _Pillar_! Varric likes to make up nicknames for people. His for me is apparently Pillar—because I am tall.” Maite leans in and adopts a conspiratorial expression. “He calls you Ruffles.”

Josephine makes an understated gasp and then says, “Well, I suppose that does no harm. That is so funny. Pilar means ‘pillar of strength.’ I wonder if he is naming you after my mare. Which reminds me, do you ride?”

“Horses, do you mean?” asks Maite, happy to discuss the one aspect of life in Thedas for which she is prepared. Upon receiving a nod, she continues, “I do keep a horse at home—or I pay a stable to board my horse. But I don’t normally spend a great deal of time on my horse, and I may not be familiar with your tack. Good heavens—you aren’t going to make me ride side-saddle are you?”

Josephine produces another polite laugh and says, “Assuredly not. I have agreed to lend you my mare for the trip to the Hinterlands. I know it is a dangerous place right now, and your own welfare is paramount, of course, but you will take good care of my Pilar, won’t you? She is the gentlest soul and I am quite attached to her—even though I rarely get an opportunity to ride her of late.”

Maite is tempted to deny the gift, but she thinks back to how embarrassed she was by her plodding to the Temple. After riding all day, she is going to be really sore when she dismounts—at least at first. She says, “That is incredibly generous of you, Josie—I’m sorry!” Very clearly, she pronounces, “Am-bass-a-dor Mon-tily-et” and then returns to a more normal tone of voice, “I love animals, and I promise to treat her as if she were my own baby.”

This burst of laugher sounds a little more genuine. Josephine says, “Oh, please do call me Josie. It makes my heart quite warm. And you have greatly reduced my worries for Pilar. Now for my next question, could you please tell me a little about your beliefs? Solas says you are not Andrastian.”

My, but everyone seems to have been consulting without her. She is surprised that Solas felt free to discuss this when he would be loath to have most of the other topics they discussed shared. She says, “I am not Andrastian, and in fact your religion does not exist where I came from. I was raised in a religion that is similar to yours, although instead of Andraste—the bride—we have Jesus—the son. The entire religion is quite patriarchal. I sometimes say, ‘Lord’ or ‘God’ or ‘Jesus’ as an expletive because of my upbringing, but I am not exactly a believer anymore. But I am not a _disbeliever_ in your religion—I just don’t know. I was telling Solas that the fact that in my world we are entertained by scenes from your world might indicate that there is _someone_ directing things. I would honor your religion, as I would that of the Dalish, or the Avvar. Shall I try hard to start exclaiming about the Maker or Andraste’s knickers or something?”

Josephine says, “For the near term, I must suggest that you minimize anything you say to those outside of your inner circle, but I would hate to ask you to censure yourself in times of duress. If there is an inquiry that causes you discomfort, we will deal with it.” 

After a pause that says to Maite that Josephine finds this next topic sensitive, Josephine says, “If I understand what has happened to you, you have been plucked from your home without your permission, and being here is quite the shock. What can we do to make you more comfortable? What little items could I procure for you that will salve your soul? You must be terribly lonely.” Once again, Josephine reaches out and holds Maite’s forearm.

Maite pats Josephine’s hand again and says, “You are very kind to ask. I miss my home, and I hope fervently that someone is taking care of my cat, but my children are grown, my employer will be minimally inconvenienced by my absence, and the stable will not let my horse suffer.” Maite thinks for a moment and then says softly, “I will miss my students, though. And as for salving my soul, you are already doing it.” 

Maite makes a little salute with her teacup. “Beyond that, _Please_ let me ask you enumerable silly questions. I don’t know how to be considerate here. This morning I was so confused about what the correct thing to do with my used washcloth was.”

Josephine tilts her head and says, “Wash-cloth?”

Taking a stab at language similarity, Maite says, “Toalla? Toallita?”

Laughing again, Josephine says, “Oh, it is my understanding that those are known as ‘flannels’ in Ferelden. You speak Antivan?”

Maite says, “It is an embarrassment to me that I have to say, not fluently, though I have studied one of the analogs in my world for years. But to return to your question, I am worried about sunburn during travel, and I would like to know if anyone is likely to be offended by my tattoo if it is visible.” Maite pulls up her sleeve and shows the thistles on her left forearm—the forearm she is going to lose someday.

Josephine says, “Those are quite lovely, though here I am much more familiar with tattoos being primarily on the face. That is, I know of people with tattoos on their bodies, but all of them also have face tattoos. I don’t think anyone would be _offended_ , though.”

One less thing to worry about. Maite says, “Oh. Speaking of ink. I am sorry, but I can’t read. While our worlds share a language, we don’t share an alphabetic system. Someone kindly left a note for me in my room, and I have no idea what it said.”

Josephine says, “I would be delighted to read it for you—except that I wrote it and thus can just tell you that it welcomed you, told you to rest as long as you like, and suggested you come to the Chantry when you were ready.”

“That is what I guessed, but I want to learn to read your system—or systems.” Josephine is too busy to be turned into a tutor. Suddenly, Maite has an engaging thought, so she says, “Do you think Varric would mind my asking him to teach me?”

Josephine, in a conspiratorial tone, says, “To be frank, we are each of us wishing to speak to you and trying not to overwhelm you. I assure you, Ser Tethras will be eager to have a reason to share your company. But I must warn you: his tongue is sharp and you are likely to be the object of many jests.”

Maite grins and says, “Promise?”

Maite and Josephine laugh, and then Josephine says, “I am guessing that you had brothers.”

Maite stylistically points her forefinger at Josephine in a gesture that means “got it in one” at home. She worries that it won’t translate, but Josephine either understands or is faking it well.

Behind her, the door opens, and Maite hears a very familiar tenor voice saying, “Josephine, I can’t give you the figures on this unless you have Threnn finish… Oh, my apologies, I didn’t know you were busy.”

Maite jumps out of her chair and turns around. There is Cullen in all his awkward, neck-rubbing glory. He is the tallest person she has met yet, but he is still shorter than she is. Maite would not have believed he could be more handsome in person than in the game, but he is. Well, if he were her son she would try to convince him to put less grease in his hair, but that is his affair. The golden eyes, the strong chin, the muscular shoulders: he isn’t exactly her type, but she can appreciate Adonis when he shows up.

While Maite is thinking this, Josephine is speaking. She is saying, “Commander, I do not think you have had a chance yet to meet our Herald. She asks that we call her Maite unless formalities are necessary.”

Cullen, looking stiff and concerned, says, “Yes. Um. We are all...uh...all very grateful for the work you did on the Breach and your willingness to take a templar with you to the Hinterlands. I hear you requested Lysette, but as she is a Templar initiate, I would not feel comfortable that she could perform her duties optimally. With your permission I will send Knight-Captain Rylen.”

Maite says, “I would be honored to have his company. I was only concerned that I would leave you short-handed if I took your second-in-command.”

Cullen’s eyebrow goes up. He says, “I suppose I should stop being surprised when you know things. But don’t worry about that. What could be more important than keeping you safe?”

Something about the way he says “safe” sends a chill up Maite’s back. She says, “Just so you know, Cullen: I don’t have any magic. I’m just a woman. I may not be from Thedas, but I am just an old woman. And oh! I hope it is OK that I have used your name without a title!”

Cullen gives his crooked smile and looks a bit less rigid. He says, “Oh, help us close the Breach and you can call me arsehole for all I care.” 

She watches him cringe—guessing he is worried about having sworn in front of a woman of her age—and says, “Fuck that! I would be more likely to call you Cully-wully than Asshole.” 

She expects him to laugh, but he does not. This man is a commander with soldiers of both sexes. How can he have been offended by that? Cullen says, “Right.” After an uncomfortable silence, he says, “So will you be ready to travel tomorrow?” 

Taken aback again, Maite says, “I thought we would have a War room meeting before travel.”

Cullen says, “Oh, we have been meeting. And after your consultation with Leliana, we arranged everything. We are only waiting on you.” He starts shifting his weight from leg to leg. “You do know it has been five days since your trip to the Temple of Sacred Ashes...?”

No, she did not know. No wonder she feels a little unsteady. Is this just because she is weaker than the usual herald, or was she able to sleep longer because Solas got some food into her? So does Cullen think she is lazy? She says, “My apologies, Commander. I was not aware. I will be ready to go tomorrow.”

Cullen says, “I will double check the arrangements and return later, Josephine.” He then turns to her, says, “Herald,” and does that fist salute to chest thing.

After he shuts the door, Maite turns back to Josephine and grimaces. She says, “Put my foot in it, didn’t I? You told me you all wanted to talk to me, but I know what it looks like when a man flees from my presence, and that was it.”

Josephine, all conciliation, says, “Oh, don’t worry about that. He takes a while to warm up to most people. He and I have been at odds a few times because of his tendency to...appreciate only the most expedient—and yet cautious—approach. He wasn’t exaggerating when he said he was grateful to you. Though I might suggest that you not use that word—the one that is a synonym for fornication—unless you know you are among tolerant friends. Perhaps it is a stronger word for us than for those of your home.”

Maite sighs; Oh, the trials of being a potty-mouth! She says, “Well, thank you for everything, Josie. Please keep making suggestions when I don’t behave! I know you have much to do, and I think I need food. Should I go to the _Singing Maiden_ or is there somewhere else I should go, and do I need coin?”

Josephine says, “Any merchant in Haven will give you anything you request and the bills will be sent to me. Perhaps you should find Varric and suggest he join you in the _Singing Maiden_?”

Maite grins and says, “Josephine, you are brilliant. Now, I intend for us to be close friends and you have been so kind to me. May I please give you a quick hug?”

Josephine smiles, and nods, and says, “By all means.” 

The hug is brief, but despite the fact that there are air-kisses, the embrace feels genuine. Maite feels the self-incrimination she experienced from her encounter with Cullen recede. She exits Josephine’s office to once again find the Chantry hall empty.

Haven is, as she expected, much bigger than the game made it seem, but Maite recognizes Leliana’s tent, and Leliana is working just inside it. She walks up and says, “I hear that I am leaving for the Hinterlands tomorrow, with Knight-Captain Rylen.”

Leliana turns and says, “As you suggested. Of course, if you are not ready, we can postpone.”

Maite says, “It’s not like I have a lot of other things on my schedule. I was just surprised to not be part of the discussion—because that is what always happened in what I saw. For the moment, I don’t mind. I’m just worried that I won’t be part of future deliberations.”

Leliana says, “You should not be concerned. The way I look at it, you were consulted when I asked Solas to wake you. I made sure that everything you suggested was taken care of, and we also made sure we had not only a pack horse, but also a horse for you to ride.”

Maite says, “Yes, I have spoken to Josie, and that was incredibly kind of her to let me use Pilar.” Maite steps a little closer and says in an undertone, “I need to know how much of what I told you in the dungeon you have passed on.”

Leliana says, “Only the part about how I could verify that you had foreknowledge of our situation. I will not tell anyone about the more sensitive things until you are present. I am investigating them, but I am being quite cautious, I can assure you.”

Maite says, “Oh, I do not doubt your abilities, Leliana: never think that. I hope I have shown that I have complete trust in you.”

Leliana says slowly, “I can’t help but wonder why that is.”

Maite says, “I’ve told you about my knowledge of the Inquisition. I have some other sets of knowledge about Thedas. I’ve watched you in Lothering and in the Deep Roads. I’ve seen you with Tug and Sketch. I don’t know exactly what happened to _you_ , because there are many choices along the way, but I know about your mother’s favorite flowers and Marjolaine and your rose. I know you have had a complicated life with little room for the stark distinctions of black and white, and I know you sing like an angel. I’ve even seen you die because of principle and duty. I kind of love you, Leliana.” 

Leliana’s eyes widen slightly, and from Leliana, this strikes Maite as like someone else expressing open dismay. Maite says, “I mean the kind of love you have for Cassandra or Josephine. Perhaps even the kind of love you had for Divine Justinia. I’m not predatory, Leliana—though I realize you have little reason to trust me the way that I trust you—at least, yet. I can wait. It is lately occurring to me that my immediate display of bonhomie is off-putting: please be tolerant of me as I adjust.”

Leliana’s face shows signs of sadness and affection as she replies, “It is I who must ask for tolerance if I have made you feel that I am ungrateful. Those in Haven call you the Herald, but for me you are _la signe avant-coureur de la bonne fortune_.” After a moment’s consideration, Leliana leans in conspiratorially and says, “And if you think I would turn down sincerely offered affection at this point in my life, then I must reevaluate your claim that you know me!”

Maite feels dampness spring into her eyes. If Josephine is support for her sanity, then Leliana is support for her heart. She realizes that Leliana reminds her—ever so slightly—of her willful, infuriating, delightful daughter. She says, “Oh, my dear. You have said just what I needed to hear.” She opens her arms, and after a moment’s hesitation, Leliana steps in and returns her hug—without air kisses.

Maite releases quickly and pats Leliana’s shoulders twice. She says, “Well now. You are busy, and I have a lesson scheduled, so I will leave you to your work.”

Leliana says, “Lesson?”

Maite whispers, “Don’t send me any sensitive notes until I learn to read,” and then turns away to walk with purpose down the path. Behind her she hears the silver trill of Leliana’s laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _la signe avant-coureur de la bonne fortune_ : harbinger of good fortune.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maite throws Varric for a loop; Varric helps Maite navigate Thedas.

While walking towards the gates of Haven, Maite sees Chancellor Roderick ahead of her. Her urge to melt into the tents and cabins before he sees her almost wins, but she knows she needs to talk to him. Taking a deep breath, she starts walking towards him. She raises one finger in the air and calls, “Chancellor Roderick!” with the air of a supplicant.

He spots her, and his spine becomes straighter, and his nose inches for the sky. He would have a much easier time looking down on her if she weren’t quite so tall, but he seems to be able to ignore troublesome reality well enough. 

She tries for the obsequious gush of the rudderless little old lady as she says, “I am leaving tomorrow morning, and I am so glad that I got to see you before I leave! Ambassador Montilyet and Sister Leliana have told me how much I owe to you, and I am pleased to have a chance to give you my sincere gratitude. I promise I will do my best to not get in Knight-Captain Rylen’s or Seeker Pentaghast’s way, and I will do whatever I can to help Mother Giselle. I am still prepared to relocate to Val Royeaux when asked.”

The Chancellor holds his hands behind his back and declaims, “It is good that you understand how much worse things could have gone for you without appropriate guidance. It speaks well of you that you requested the help of one of our loyal templars who have not eschewed the protection of the Chantry. But be on guard: You must deny yourself the hubris that could corrupt your dedication. If you are to do Andraste’s work, you must submit yourself to Andraste’s will. As long as you continue to follow our lead, your eventual trial may not end poorly for you. I am sure your willingness to help will be taken into account.”

“Thank you, Chancellor,” she says, with her head bowed submissively. Looking up, face full of worship, she says, “May I presume to ask you a question?”

Roderick produces a quick sideways nod with briefly closed eyes. Clearly he is granting a boon easily revoked. 

Maite says, “As I understand it, you are one of the most important living Chantry leaders. Will we in Haven continue to benefit from your presence, or must you return to Val Royeaux, where your guidance is, no doubt, also sorely needed?”

Roderick’s benevolent face briefly drops to neutrality before he regains his self assurance. He says, “You must not concern yourself with this detail. The leadership is in discussion during this tumultuous time, and no matter my location in Thedas, my words are only a raven’s flight away. Rest assured, the Inquisition is a Chantry organization. Until we have a new Divine, you can depend on guidance not only from myself, but from Knight-Commander Cullen, Sister Leliana, and Seeker Pendaghast.” 

No Josephine, eh? Too secular? Maite thinks of Josephine as reasonably devout, but she doesn’t actually have a Chantry title—at least not outside of the Inquisition. And he may have included Cullen, but Maite knows Cullen doesn’t like to use his templar title anymore—not that she is crazy enough to point that out to Roderick. She says, “Thank you again, Chancellor. I will do my best to help the Inquisition succeed, I promise.” All very true. She finishes with, “Well, I will not keep you.” 

As soon as she is far enough away from him, she sighs in relief. She hopes he follows her breadcrumbs back to Val Royeaux. She would hate to have to keep up this disingenuous act during a War room meeting. She won’t worry about this: Josephine and Leliana have this covered. She shudders briefly with self-distaste. What she needs to cleanse her palate is a meal with a cantankerous and charismatic dwarf.

When she gets to Varric’s tent, she doesn’t see him, and his tent flaps are closed. What time is it anyway? Looking up at the sky, she sees indications that it is late morning. 

She scratches softly on his tent canvas, and “What?” rasps out of his tent in starkly offended tones.

She says, “I am sorry, Varric. I can come back later.” 

Before she can leave, she hears, “Pillar, wait!” and Varric pokes his head out of his tent. He’s propped on his right elbow staring straight up at her…and he is not wearing a shirt. This means even more of his chest hair is on display—as well as a left shoulder covered with the hypnotizing fractal of a Lichtenberg figure. It isn’t hard to imagine that at some point Varric had a serious altercation with a lightning mage. Maite hopes she can get him to tell the story. 

She can feel the heat pouring out of his tent. That man must sleep like a furnace. She says, “I didn’t mean to bother you. Josephine suggested I ask for your help, but it can wait. Perhaps I’ve had so much of my own sleep lately that I have forgotten that others still need it.”

He screws up his face dismissively and says, “Pish. I was afraid I was never going to see you again. One moment.” Varric’s upper body disappears, the tent flap drops, and Maite hears the sound of things being thrown around in the tent. More quickly than she would have thought possible, he re-emerges, fully dressed. He says, “So what are we up to?”

She says, “I need food, education, and entertainment, and I was hoping you would be willing to join me at the _Singing Maiden_. I also owe you a few conversations on sensitive topics.”

Varric says, “While I don’t want it spread around that I ever disparaged the charms of the local tavern, I’m eager for those conversations you mentioned, and the _Singing Maiden_ might not be the best spot for them.”

Maite thinks for a moment. Will he think this is unseemly? She says, “I have a table and two chairs in my room. We could take the food there.”

Varric smiles and says, “I can do one better than that.” He places his fingers in his mouth and lets out a piercing whistle. Soon, a young elven woman—who looks remarkably like the servant who awakens the Herald in the game—runs over from around Seggrit’s shop. Varric hands her a pile of coin and says, “Could you bring two Fereldan Fry-ups to the Herald’s cabin? Tea…? For the Herald?” he says looking at Maite. When she nods, he says, “and a tall tankard for me. Keep the change.”

The young woman—who may be listening to Varric, but whose eyes are on Maite—says, “My lady! They say you saved us!” The woman is stooping and performing actions disturbingly like groveling. This could be religious veneration, but Maite thinks it is fear: Fear of the people who hold too damn much power over her. And Varric called her here by whistling for her like she was a dog. Knowing Varric, he probably arranged for her to help him specifically because she needed the money, but… 

Maite doesn’t think further: She steps forward, takes the young woman’s hands and says, “I _coped_ , child. Just as you are. We, each of us, are doing our part during a very difficult time. Be as proud of yourself as I am proud of you. What is your name, beauty?”

“Leorah,” she says, eyes wide, “but I’m nobody special, Your Worship.”

“You are special to me, Leorah, and you could be of great help to me. I would prefer that you call me Maite, but if that is uncomfortable...Would…would you like to call me Hahren? Hahren Maite? I don’t mean to be presumptuous—I know I am not an elf. I just want to find a name that you are happy to use.”

Maite would swear that Leorah’s eyes comprise most of her face. Leorah breaths, “Hahren!” When Maite keeps looking at her in an inquiring manner, she says, “Yes, I would like that, My...Hahren.”

“Well, Leorah,” says Maite, “I will be traveling for a while, starting tomorrow, and I haven’t seen many elves in Haven. Elven welfare is very important to me. Do you think by the time I return, you could find me someone who has the respect of most of the elves in Haven? I don’t know if there are any Dalish elves here, but if there are, and you would rather bring me two elves: one city and one Dalish: that would work. I want to have some people who can make sure that I hear about it if elves are being treated unfairly here. Could you help me with that?”

Leorah says, “Oh! Yes, but I…I would be honored.” She looks frantically between Varric and Maite for a moment, and when they don’t say anything, she rushes off. Maite wishes she didn’t suspect that Leorah felt like she was escaping. There Maite is, always coming on too strong.

Varric, shaking his head and smiling, says, “Oh, you are going to be one of _those_ kinds of trouble makers. Daisy would approve.”

As they start walking, Maite says, “I would so love to meet Merrill, but we are getting close to one of those topics we should probably be on the inside of a closed door for.”

As they approach her doorway, Varric says, “You know, she has probably never even heard the phrase ‘elven welfare’ before.”

Maite opens the door and ushers Varric in. She looks around quickly and sees that the table has been cleared and the previously troublesome washcloth is absent. She says, “That could be because I use weird-ass phrasing or because the concept is devalued. I’m hoping you can sorta help me with both.”

Varric laughs and takes a chair. He says, “You seem pretty sure that I sympathize with their plight. So just what _do_ you know about me? Leliana talked to Solas and me and told us a bit about your not being from Thedas, but of course, I want to hear more.”

Gesturing Varric to a chair, she sits in the other and says, “This can be a bit difficult to explain. I’ve watched various different ways Hawke’s life could have played out in front of me. Because of this, I know that you and Hawke went to the Deep Roads and found that troublesome idol, but I don’t know if Hawke is a man or a woman—or if Hawke is a warrior. I know you get along better with Merrill than Sebastian, but I don’t know if you killed Bartrand or not.”

Varric says, “That’s interesting. I take it you have never read my book. Marion Hawke is female—and a mage—and Bartrand will never be an issue for me ever again.” After a moment of what looks like active thought, Varric says, “Of course I want to understand more of how you watched this, but you know that isn’t what I was asking about.”

Maite feels the influence of her long-dead instigator of a father and dives into the deep end. “OK. Well, I’ve seen you naked in bed with Bianca, if that tells you anything. And I don’t mean the crossbow.”

Varric almost seems to do a spit-take, though she is sure he has had nothing to drink. Speaking low and quickly, he says “Hey, now! Do you know how much trouble you can get me into?”

Maite says, “Yes, yes, I know about the assassins. And honestly, it wasn’t really Bianca because it was in the Fade—just before you destroyed the Magrallen. But I’m fascinated that you think your being with Bianca will get you into more trouble than your having lied to Cassandra and being able to contact Hawke at any time.”

Varric covers his face with his hands and rubs his palms, rather firmly, down his face. He says, “And you said you loved me!” in a mildly distorted voice.

Maite says, “I do, but I have some...stark…things to say on those topics. Let’s not waste time. In my culture we say, ‘let’s rip the bandage off’. To begin with, did you recognize the voice of the big bad in the Temple?”

Varric’s voice sounds like he is a teenager having been caught driving the family car without permission. He says, “It can’t be who it sounded like: I watched him die.”

Maite says, “I have really bad news: whenever Corypheus’s body dies, he can transfer his consciousness to any other body infected by the Blight—which includes Wardens.”

Varric, looking exhausted, says, “No wonder Blondie had trouble. That explains how Larius was acting, too. I guess I should be grateful that he didn’t take over Anders, but I imagine Justice would have made him rather uncomfortable.”

Maite considers how easily Varric says Anders’s name. He appears to hold no lingering rancor. More investigation will be called for. Another time.

She says, “Which leads to my next shocker. Guess who gave Corypheus the heads up about red lyrium in Bartrand’s Folly and told him how to find it? I’ll give you a hint: she thinks she deserves to be the first surfacer Paragon. To be fair, she thought she was giving it to Larius as an expert on the Blight—since red lyrium is just infected lyrium.”

Varric groans loudly. A knock sounds at the door. 

When Maite opens the door, she finds Leorah—with a look of great concern on her face—carrying a tray full of food. Maite opens the door wider, and Leora enters to put the tray down on the table. Maite says, “Thank you very much, Leorah. We both thank you.” 

When Varric still doesn’t say anything she kicks his chair. He perks up and says, “Yes. Yes, thank you Leorah. All is well.”

Maite isn’t sure that Leorah believes this, but she bobs her head and leaves. Maite turns from the door to the table. She figures she will give Varric time to simmer down a little. Apparently a Fereldan Fry-up is an immense amount of food. Maite sees eggs, bacon, a very dark sausage that looks like it has grain in it, mushrooms, tomatoes, potatoes, and bread. She doesn’t eat this much in a whole day. But she is hungry, so she picks up a piece of bread, places an egg on it, a tomato on top of that, and starts eating slowly.

After chewing a bit, she looks back at Varric, and he takes that as his cue. He sounds like he can barely get it together enough to make a sentence when he says, “Can you tell me more about the ‘contacting Hawke’ portion of your revelations?”

Maite says, “In what I have seen, You don’t send for Hawke until Haven is destroyed by Corypheus and the Inquisition has to set up shop in a new location. When Hawke shows up, Cassandra punches you in the face, and you, Cassandra, and the Inquisitor all say things you didn’t really mean. It made things awkward.”

Varric says, “Awkward? That’s your point? You sure like to bury the lede. Corypheus _destroys_ Haven?”

Maite says, “Yes, but only after we close the Breach, which we are not close to doing. And I will be doing my best to get non-combatants out of here before then.” Maite eyes Varric closely and says, “I don’t have to tell you how important it is not to spread this info, do I? We don’t want, for example, Cullen to find this out too soon. We need to preserve our advantage of knowing when and where he will attack.”

Irritably, Varric says, “You know everything else about me, so I suppose you know I run my own spy network. I know how to keep a secret—or is it that you think me simple enough to not know panic-causing information is sensitive?”

Varric grumbles and rubs his face and shakes his head. Maite silently hands him his tankard, and he drains it in one go. After he puts the tankard back down, he says, “We can talk about this more later, but I think I have had enough of huge revelations for one morning. What is it that Josephine suggested I help you with?” He picks up a rasher of bacon and starts chewing as he awaits her answer.

Maite gives Varric an embarrassed smile. She says, “Well, you know how you commented about my not having read your book?” When he nods, she says, “I _can’t_ read your book.” She picks up the note she found earlier and hands it to him. “I can’t read a word of this. It doesn’t look anything like the alphabets we use at home—and I am even including alphabets I can’t really use. I’m a published author. Do you know how bad it feels to suddenly be illiterate? Books are my best friends!”

Varric is starting to look like his jovial and irascible self, again. He says, “Published author, eh? So we have something in common. What do you publish?”

Maite says, “I’m a university professor, so the things I write are read by a very small number of professionals in the same field. I doubt you would enjoy them—or even be willing to read past the abstract. One of them is titled, “Explorations of Machine Learning Guidance for Self-Modifying Automata in Non-Player-Character-Driven Narrative.”

He looks smugly proud. She’s seen that look on family members before. He says, “That is really impressive.” For some reason, Varric’s being taken-in by academic word-salad disappoints her.

She crosses her arms and says, “Not really. It’s very narrow and dense.”

He says, “I don’t mean the paper: I mean that I understand every single word in that title and I haven’t a clue what any two words together could mean.” He tilts his head at her and smiles sympathetically. “But I can see that being unable to read would really bother you.” 

He takes up the note and puts it pointedly on the other side of the table, clearly ignoring it. She must look unhappy, because he pats her arm and says, “Now, now. We just aren’t going to start with handwriting, which is a whole ‘nother thing. We are going to start with a book written by a handsome and insightful author.”

“Are we now?” she asks, and grins conspiratorially.

Varric rises from his chair and approaches the rustic bookcase on the other side of the room. He says, “I happen to know we have a copy available,” and he plucks a book off of the bookshelf. He must have put this here. As a kindness? As self-promotion? As both?

Maite says, “That doesn’t look like the book I saw Cassandra stab.”

Varric says, “Nothing is too good for the Chantry. She had the deluxe, leather-bound, version. This is for my kind of people: cheap and easily portable.”

Maite manipulates the book, examining the cover, the spine, and the frontispiece. She says, “See: I can’t even read the title. Do these runes represent sounds, or concepts, or something else? Where I am from, there are 26 letters in the alphabet, but you can’t really tell what sounds the letters make until you have them in groups. I’m not a linguist, so I might not be saying this correctly.”

Varric says, “That sounds complicated, but fortunately, the printed system was developed by the dwarves, and if there is anything dwarves are good at, it is being logical. There are certain runes that are vowels, and others that are consonants. Let me show you.”

Maite says, “This is good. It reminds me of Korean, a language from home that I can’t communicate with, but I can read it aloud. I can’t understand it, but I can produce the right sounds, and a native speaker listening to me can understand it.”

“Exactly,” says Varric. Varric, in between bites of food, starts working through the book, showing her how you can tell if a rune is a vowel, and finding each vowel to read to her. She eats and listens and asks questions.

This is going to work. She hadn’t realized how much of a burden not being able to read has been; now that she sees it is going to work, she can feel herself relaxing. She would like to take notes, but no one has a pen here, and quills are yet another thing that she doesn’t know how to use. 

One step at a time. She is sure someone will help her learn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed LonelyAgain’s character, Leorah, with permission. Thanks, Lonely!
> 
> The bit about Varric naked in the Fade just before destroying the Magrallen is from the comic, _Dragon Age: Until We Sleep_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maite enjoys meeting the horse she is to ride. Maite meets Lieutenant-Commander Rylen. 
> 
> Solas and Maite start planning how to cope with the eventual destruction of Haven.

Maite has her elbows on the top of the stick fence as she gazes at Pilar. Maite had been expecting a stolid little mare with a raggedy coat and an obedient but lazy nature—a description that fits the pack horse on the other end of the pen, but not Pilar. Varric had walked her out through the gate when she had expressed interest in seeing the horse, but he left once she started expounding on the wonders of the beauty before her.

Varric is a city man who didn’t grow up playing with Breyer horses. Varric didn’t spend years of his life obsessively reading about various breeds of horses before finally taking a job in a stable within biking distance of his house. Varric has never ridden dressage. And maybe Pilar has never been ridden during a dressage competition, but she sure looks like she could be. She looks like a classic Andalusian dapple gray, with a short back, solid hindquarters, an arched neck with a luxurious mane, and the most intelligent eyes Maite has ever seen on a horse. Maite is in awe that she is going to be allowed to ride this horse. Maite loves Queenie—the paint Morgan horse she adopted rather than letting her be put down—but this horse is a refined miracle.

Maite had put out her palm and let Pilar lip it, but Pilar moved on to huffing into her face and nibbling her collar, which she has been doing for several minutes.

Behind her, she hears the approach of a light step and then a voice with the remnants of a Scottish accent saying, “Did ye want to try her out before tomorrow, Your Grace?” She turns around, and she sees someone who looks like Craig Ferguson with a chin tattoo. Rylen.

She smiles at him. “Knight-Captain,” she says. “I am happy to have a chance to meet you.”

He says, “I hear you requested me, Your Grace, and I am pleased that you did so, but I don’t use that title anymore. I am Lieutenant-Commander Rylen, and I am Commander Rutherford’s second, as I am told you know.”

She says, “While we are getting names straight, you may call me anything you want when you feel respect needs to be demonstrated, but please call me Maite when it is just our party. It would make me much more comfortable.”

“Aye,” he says. “I can do that, and you can dispense with the titles and call me Rylen. And I willnae ask again if you want to ride her; I see the way you look at the bonnie lass.”

Maite turns to Rylen and says, “I’ve never seen such a beautiful horse.”

Rylen laughs softly and says, “Aye, and she knows you fancy her. Don’t you lass?”

He runs his hand down her neck before he goes to the shed behind the pen, to return with a pile of tack and a bucket filled with tools. First he hands a lead to Maite, and she snaps it to Pilar’s halter. Pilar immediately moves to the gate of the pen. Rylen opens the gate, Pilar prances out, and Maite attaches her to the fence with a simple manger tie. Maite takes a brush from the bucket and starts brushing Pilar down while crooning to her.

Rylen keeps holding the tack and watching her work. Soon, he says, “Do you mind telling me why you asked for me, Your...Maite?”

“Not at all,” she says while continuing to brush the mare. “You are a practical man of high principals. What more can I ask for? I wanted a man who would ‘when the barracks are on fire, go and get a bucket of water, and not smite the ashes for the heresy’. I also wanted someone who the Commander would trust: someone who could make him feel better about this unknown-quantity of a Herald running around loose. And finally, I have zero combat skills. I felt my useless nature repeatedly when I was with Solas, Varric, and Cassandra on the way to the Temple.”

Rylen looks like he needs a piece of straw to chew on. He says, “That all makes sense, but you had the sound of quoting someone—about the smiting. Who were you quoting?”

Maite stops brushing for a moment—it isn’t as if this horse was dirty. She looks at Rylen and says, “Did they warn you about me—about my _oddness_?” When he nods, she says, “I was quoting you.”

Rylen snorts a laugh. He says, “Well, now I ken that our time together will be worth writing to me Mam about.” In response to a sharp look from Maite, he says, “Although I would, of course, not discuss your—what was it— _oddness_ with her.”

Maite nods before putting the brush back in the bucket; next she checks each of Pilar’s perfectly pristine, well-shod, hooves. She takes the blanket from the top of Rylen’s pile of tack, places it down, and then the half pad and the saddle on top of it. So far the tack is familiar enough—although usually when she has done this, Velcro has been involved. The girth is made out of leather that is soft as butter. It has buckles on both sides, which is nice; she tightens it alternately on each side until it is tight, and then folds down the stirrups. She knows her length, so the adjustment is quick. She has to take the stirrups to the last hole, but that isn’t unexpected given that this is Josie’s saddle—perhaps she will ask Herrit about someone who can add an extra hole, but that isn’t crucial. She keeps up her patter to Pilar, who is watching her closely. There are two bridles: a D-ring snaffle and a Bosal. If Pilar has been trained with a bit-less bridal, that seems to be a much more polite way to start their relationship. She reaches for the Bosal.

Rylen says, “Are you sure you want to do without a bit for the first time on her back?”

Maite says, “Josie told me she was the gentlest soul. And I see in her eyes that she wants to dance just as much as I do. If she gives me trouble, I promise to change it right away. But if we can handle traveling with the Bosal, I am sure she would be more comfortable.” In a softer, breathier tone, Maite says to Pilar, “You would not fight me, girl, now would you? I know you want to show me what you can do. I will do my best by you, beauty.”

She checks the girth one more time. By the time she is thinking about putting her foot up into the stirrup, Rylen has dropped to one knee to let her use his thigh as a mounting block. She puts her right foot on his thigh, her left foot on the stirrup iron, and over she swings. Rylen is holding Pilar’s noseband. Maite smiles at him and raises an eyebrow, and he drops his hands. She can tell he is composing the words he will use to explain how he let the Herald come to harm. She clicks her tongue twice to Pilar, and they pirouette away.

Pilar wants to show off, so Maite gives her a chance. She shifts her weight and tucks the reins to ask Maite for piaffe, and Pilar prances in place with the most beautiful conformation that Maite can imagine. Then they move into a half-trot passage and then a canter. Pilar is happy to change leads on every stride if Maite asks for it. Maite is so happy she thinks she is going to cry. She says to Pilar, “You absolute treasure. You are the most amazing equine I have ever met. I would not for the world let any harm come to you.” 

She starts making wider circles around the empty practice field, and she notices several people have stopped to watch her. She moves through passage, extended trot, trot half-pass, and canter—throwing in a pirouette every now and then. She looks back to the pen and she sees Varric and Solas waiting for her, so she gives Pilar her head and they move from a canter to a gallop. As they come back towards the pen, Maite considers asking for something flashy that there is no reason for Pilar to know how to do—and certainly no reason for Maite to risk asking. She isn’t even sure if she asks. Dressage commands are so subtle, and Pilar is so well trained. As they come in, Pilar slows and then performs a Capriole: leaping in the air and kicking her hind-hooves out behind her. Maite feels like she just took a high fence and is never coming down. When she gets near Solas and Varric, she asks once again for piaffe.

She smiles down on her companions. Solas’s face holds the pride of a parent. Varric just looks shocked. Varric says, “I didn’t know horses could dance.”

Pillar says, “I actually do this kind of thing at home—with music to accompany it.” She would swear Pilar’s ears pricked up when she said that. Wishful thinking.

Rylen moves forward—either to hold the reins or to help her down—but she doesn’t need his help; she dismounts simply and starts stroking Pilar’s neck. Varric says, “Was it my imagination, or did that horse look like she was trying to walk on air?”

Rylen reaches for her reins—clearly meaning to lead Pilar away. She says, “I’ve always been told that anyone who didn’t care for her horse after a good ride is no horsewoman.”

Rylen says, “Let’s take the thought for the deed this time, Your Grace. Or are ye jealous that I want to spend some time with the lass? These two have been waiting for you, and you will get all the time you need with the mare tomorrow.”

Maite gives a final pat to Pilar, thanks Rylen, and then starts walking back into Haven with Solas and Varric. Remembering Varric’s question, she says, “That is just a gait they use. They throw out their hooves before they drop them. Beautiful, isn’t it? Oh, and Varric, at least in my world, a lot of people find horses and the riding of them very romantic. You could learn a few details for your next book, you know.”

Varric says, “Ha! And I thought she was trying to shake something off of her feet.” He walks a few more steps with them, but he slows and then stops. He says, “I suppose I could learn.”

Maite says, “You know how it is, Varric. You do a ton of research that just ends up being background fill or a side-point. But I would think it might help with character development for one of your stories.”

Varric says, “Excellent point. Might as well start now.” With that he turns around and walks back down to where Rylen is tending to Pilar. Maite waves him off and stands looking at him briefly before turning back to Solas.

Solas raises an eyebrow. He says, “Did you do that purposefully so that we could talk in private?”

She realizes he is walking her back to her cabin. She says, “No. Why should I? He would have had no problem with my simply asking him to give the two of us the chance to talk.

As they reach her door, Solas says, “Your performance out there belies your claim that you have no athletic ability.” 

Maite closes the door behind Solas and goes over to the table where the book is still sitting. She says, “That is just balance and habit. It has nothing to do with cardio-vascular fitness.” From Solas’s expression, she doesn’t think she communicated. She says, “My stamina and ability to breath under exertion are not often challenged by the amount of horse riding I do as a hobby. I’m really just a hobbyist and it shows; I think anyone would look like a good rider on Pilar.”

Solas, seating himself, says, “Granted, but the strength of your central body is not that of one who is indolent. You strengthen your body for balance. Your litheness and grace are a pleasing side benefit.”

What? Oh yes, he says that to all the Heralds. She has somehow forgotten that he is maneuvering to win her good opinion. She can’t help but be disappointed, but she is sure there is worse to come, in any case.

She says, “Thank you.” Starting a new topic, she says, “For Josie to have offered me the use of that horse is one of the most delightful things to ever have happened to me. And here we are taking her into battle. It would kill me to have that horse hurt.”

Solas gives her a concerned look. She has no trouble believing that she’s had some recent hard-to-understand facial expressions. He says, “You must not endanger your own life to save a horse; your life’s worth is the worth of the whole world: you must not sacrifice Thedas for even an admittedly marvelous horse.”

He wants to go there? OK. She says, “I’ve seen you die to save others. Not even just the person with your Mark. I’ve seen you risk yourself to save friends or even strangers. And yet I have heard you say, ‘But the People, they need me,’ as an excuse to do horrible things to a friend. Are the ethics different for me than for you?” 

Maite supposes it wasn’t enough to provoke him with the question; she had to go to the trouble of imitating his accent when she quoted him. Bet he isn’t thinking of her as lithe or graceful anymore.

Solas’s face goes still in the same way the Leliana's is usually still. She waits, but he doesn’t seem like he is going to say anything. She says, “We don’t have to settle this now. We will learn more about each other and we will encourage each other to not be reckless. But having begun with difficult topics, I have several more I would like to discuss with you before we leave.” He nods, and his stare doesn’t look quite so blank.

She says, “I recently told Varric that Haven is destroyed by Corypheus on the night we seal the Breach.” She has his complete attention. “I didn’t tell him this next part: Many people die. Eventually—and I am really underplaying this, you understand—the Inquisition relocates to the empty fortress in the Frostbacks that you ‘discovered in the Fade’: Tarasyl'an Te'las. The Inquisition stays in Skyhold until the end of the time I know of.”

Solas says, “I take it you wish to forewarn the leadership?”

“Yes,” she says, “but carefully. I trust that Leliana can pull off a deep con, and probably Josephine, but I’m not sure about Cullen and Cassandra.”

“Deep con?” asks Solas.

Maite says, “Oh. An elaborate plot to get a target’s confidence and mislead them until you win a substantial reward at their expense.”

“And you wish to _con_ Cullen?

“No, I wish to con Corypheus, but one of the failings of deep con operations is that when you have too many conspirators, your target learns things at inopportune moments, and thus the operation fails.”

Solas says, “You need not have a complete plan. What are some of your ideas?”

Maite says, “We make sure everyone in Haven has a complete evacuation plan. Perhaps we move the most vulnerable out of Haven before we attempt to seal the Breach—either to Skyhold or to somewhere else. Perhaps we surreptitiously make sure Skyhold is minimally inhabitable before we have to relocate. Perhaps we make sure we know direct routes to Skyhold and don’t just tell people to ‘Scout to the North’. Perhaps we pad the place in the old mining cave where the Herald always lands after confronting Corypheus so the Heralds bones stay where they belong. Perhaps we come up with a better explanation of your knowledge of Skyhold than that you discovered it in the Fade.”

“Why that last one?” he asks.

“How you came to know of Skyhold, according to Leliana, is not the most important thing, but I can tell you that by the time Corypheus is defeated, she has begun to suspect you. She checks out the small town you told her you were from, and it is an ancient ruin. She has noticed how much you learn in the Fade. Why can’t you tell her, truthfully, that you have been there before? You are known as a wanderer, after all.”

Oh that look. The one where he tilts his head and draws back looking skeptical or amused. So adorable. Back to matters at hand.

She says, “I think it might be better, since you are known to investigate ruins, both awake and asleep, that you have found hints of Skyhold in another ruin. It could even be that you came by the Conclave with the idea of your eventually investigating it. Oh, wait! What if you had already been there and been impressed _on the way to the Conclave_. Would that work?”

Solas nods and says, “It might. I will consider it. I will discuss this with Leliana after we finish.”

She says, “Oh, I could go with you.”

Solas says, “You could, but I think it might advance both our goals better for me to take the initiative and discuss it with her alone. Of course I will mention that you know the importance of her knowing of this eventuality so that she can plan for it. She can always find you after our discussion if she needs to.” He could be right about that. Leliana’s acceptance of Solas as an ally and an asset would be a good thing.

She says, “OK, and while we are talking about Leliana, you should know that I have talked to Inquisition leadership about trying to keep agents of the Qun and Tevinter out of Haven.”

Solas says, “Are you telling me this because you think I also have agents?”

Maite snaps, “I _know_ you have agents; I’ve seen you kill one. But I admit that I don’t know that you have any agents in Haven, though you will certainly have them in Skyhold.”

His brow is furrowed. “Kill?” he says.

“Felassan. You don’t need to tell me about it. But you should know that we are going to be interacting with Briala before too long. She is the one who convinced Felassan that the elves of today are people.”

Solas might look angry—if it is anger, it is rather understated compared to what happened when he confronted the mages who summoned Wisdom. Wisdom. Better tell him about that as soon as possible too.

She says, “Which has just reminded me of one of the most important things I have to say, although one of the least time critical: Your friend, Wisdom, is going to be forced into the waking world in the Dales. Some ignorant mages will force her to fight, and this will corrupt her, and although we manage to break her compulsion such that she returns to her nature, she is too damaged to survive. She says to you, ‘ _Ma ghilana mir din'an_ ,’ and you do so. This won’t happen until after Haven is destroyed by Corypheus, which won’t happen until after we seal the Breach, which won’t happen until we visit Redcliffe, which won’t happen until after we go to Val Royeaux. So there is time. But I wanted to give you plenty of leeway to plan how you can keep Wisdom safe. Oh, and apologies for referring to Wisdom as female. I know she isn’t gendered, but I think of her as feminine.”

Solas is now looking directly into her eyes. His focus keeps moving from one of her eyes to the other. He looks agitated—as if he is actually in the middle of a life or death situation. Perhaps he is. He says, “Are there more such topics for you to raise? Will every conversation I have with you be filled with my tragedies and reports of my bad faith?”

Damn. She sucks. She grabs for his hand and holds it gently. She says, “No. _Ir abelas_ , it is more that I want to make sure I withhold nothing pertinent from you. And when I get on a topic, I can be rather obsessive about covering everything I know about that topic. If only I could pull up the reviews of my teaching so you could see this is a known issue for me. I promise that while I wish to be bluntly honest with you, the last thing in the world I want is for you to sink into despair or self-recrimination.” She has to do a better job of this. If she had thought about how to broach these topics and Solas’s feelings about them, she wouldn’t have blundered so badly.

Solas looks down to his hand that she is patting. He pats her back. He says, “I can appreciate obsession.” After a pregnant pause, he nods, as if to himself, and says, “I will stay then. At least until the Breach has been closed.”

She says, “Solas, if you ever leave, I will lie down on my bed, turn my face to the wall, and relive memories of my animals and my family until I breathe no more. I know there is danger for you here, but if you are not here, there is _only_ danger, everywhere. And for as long as it is within my power, I will protect you.”

Solas says, “Thank you.” Oh, she’s seen that look before: the nod, the self-satisfied smile. He continues, “But now let us hope that we are ready for the morning. I will leave you to your preparations, and I will find Leliana.”

She still has his hand, so she squeezes it once more before releasing it. He stands, nods, and leaves.

Maite doesn’t think there is much else she has to do. Actually, lying on her bed and thinking of her pets, family, and her friends doesn’t sound half bad.

It’s just that some of her new friends will get their fair share of her considerations.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I have another unfinished work I should be submitting to, but this wouldn't get out of my head and I figured this might be a path to get me back to writing regularly.
> 
> Thanks to a couple of people who let me ramble at them about this.


End file.
